


Cocksucker

by beaubete



Category: Casino Royale (2006), James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-24
Updated: 2014-11-24
Packaged: 2018-02-26 19:56:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2664428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beaubete/pseuds/beaubete
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s not something he does for the job—that is to say, it’s something he reserves for friends.  Because while he can’t imagine taking a male partner home and keeping him, he can’t imagine going without a cock in his mouth, either, and he has so many friends.  So many, many good friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cocksucker

James Bond takes to sucking cock like a fish to water.  He loves it, loves the tastes and the smells of it, the way his lovers squirm beneath his hands and grind their hips against his face to get more, more of his mouth and tongue and throat.  It makes him feel powerful, immensely so.  It is the single sexiest thing he knows how to do, because it’s the single sexiest thing he does for himself.

It’s not something he does for the job—that is to say, it’s something he reserves for friends.  Because while he can’t imagine taking a male partner home and keeping him, he can’t imagine going without a cock in his mouth, either, and he has so many friends.  So many, many good friends.

Bill Tanner makes the sweetest sounds when Bond drops to his knees in front of him.  His eyes go wide and doubting, unsure in a way Bill never is in his day to day life.  Bond likes to nose at him, to rub his face in the softness of his belly and the slight pudge he finds there.  Bill goes so still and tremulous from the moment Bond cups him through his slacks, and he’s so responsive and sweet.  He’s got a fat cock, fatter than Bond was expecting the first time he got his hands on it, just wide enough for a delicious burn to set in in Bond’s jaw as he sucks.  It’s not long, but it’s lovely, a mouthful that splits Bond’s lips and makes him drool.

When he’s coming, Bill Tanner makes soft grunting sounds in a way that reminds Bond a little of a pig, though he’d never say so.  He lets himself go, starts to fuck at Bond’s face in short, eager little humps, and Bond relaxes, lets him in with a little sigh.  He always comes fast, eager, and when he’s leaning trembling against his desk, he likes to watch with hooded eyes as Bond tosses off at his feet.  Bill always finishes with a kiss, even when Bond’s made a mess and he knows his mouth tastes of come, brine and chlorine.  Bill is sweet, and they’re good friends, and Bill never tries for more than Bond will give him, even though he recognises the want in the back of his eyes sometimes, in the curl of his fingers.

Gareth Mallory is a gigantic cock.  A six-foot-tall, walking, talking, living, breathing cock.  He likes to pretend to force Bond to his knees, though the one time he’d managed to actually scrounge up force Bond had left, wordless.  That’s not what this is, for all he lets Mallory coax him into the footwell of his desk and pen him in with his chair.  The small space smells feral, thick with the smell of cock as Mallory opens his trousers and leaves it hanging there for Bond to put his mouth on.

His cock is thinner, veiny, with a foreskin that Bond enjoys taking between his teeth to suck.  Mallory encourages his interest, sometimes reaches down to stretch the delicate skin so that Bond can lap kittenish at the thinness of it.  He’s got a beautifully old-fashioned piercing in it, a fat silver hoop that’s perfect for playing with, and Bond’s figured out how to make him come in ten minutes flat, though Mallory prefers it when he takes it slow, when they both pretend that Moneypenny is just outside the office door and he has to keep quiet.  Bond likes to watch those manicured nails dig in and clench at the creased slacks on either side of his head, to listen to his breathing as Mallory slowly begins to lose control.  He’ll rut against Mallory’s calf, come down his immaculate trousers until it pools on his shiny shoe.  Then he likes to lap it off.

Felix Leiter likes to pretend he’s a beautiful woman, or else that he’s drunker than he really is.  It doesn’t offend Bond; whatever it takes to get that cock in his mouth.  Felix is massive, easily enough to fill both hands, but more than that Felix is the least careful of all of his friends.  Felix likes to hold him down by the shoulders, likes to fuck into his throat until Bond imagines he could see it in there if he had a mirror, if his lashes weren’t stuck together with sweat and watering from a fucking he’ll feel later.  He comes home from America with the worst sore throats and happy.

He doesn’t dare get off with Felix, just offers him a beer and casually leans over until he can reach his goal.  Neither of them will talk as he unzips his denims, lifts out that thick black cock, and eases it into his mouth.  Once he’s done, once Felix has recovered from his boneless slump on the chair at least enough to tuck his limp, spent piece back into his pants, they’ll go back to being normal friends, though Bond can detect a hint of tension, of eagerness in Felix’s voice when he asks months later: When are you headed this way again?

And he’s friends with Q, just as he was with Boothroyd before him, those awfully trendy cardigans looped around Q’s elbows as he nuzzles those checked trousers open.  Q’s pants could be called knickers in some circles; they’re pants to be seen by a lover, and Bond gives them the attention they’re asking for, sucking wet kisses into the thin fabric until he can see the shape of Q’s cock beneath them.  It’s not the biggest cock—not long or fat or thick or massive—but just enough to fit comfortably in his mouth for hours.  He tries it once, until Q squeals and shoves at him with both hands, then lies trembling on the bed, his cock a sore, sucked red.

Q sucks him back.  Once he’s come, Q likes to drop to his knees because he likes the smells, the tastes and textures of Bond’s cock on his tongue.  Sometimes he’ll bury his nose in Bond’s bush and just sniff, long breaths that puff hot against his skin.  Sometimes he just sucks, long, slow drags of suction on his skin until his blood feels like a sherbet fountain, like his head is a balloon far away, watching that dark head bob in his lap.  He lets Q kiss him after he’s come because turnabout is fair play and they don’t mind tasting themselves on each other.  

Because Bond has a lot of friends, but Q is his best.

 


End file.
